DeGroot
by kladlod
Summary: A modern lowlife named Dylan is accidentally sent back in time to a daunting 1800's Scotland where he meets the once-famed exile Lord Cladius DeGroot. Though their 'friendship' is sharp and bitter, they slowly learn to deal with each other as partners, in addition to the threats they face from both the past, present and the future.
1. Blue Sky

"A big-ass castle," he muttered to himself. "What... the fuck?!" Dylan yelled, a release that he'd soon regret reveling in as birds quietly flew themselves from their respective perches of the seemingly-abandoned little town next to the keep. "W-what is this? Hello?!" he yelled again.

Hello? Hello... that word reverberated in his head as he approached almost clumsily to the keep's opening, being sure to notice that he couldn't get in unless he was on the other side. And, surely...

What was that prick doing at the bar back there? What trick he pulled on me couldn't be real. I was hit by a card in the alleyway and, hell, what? Did it have some sorta fancy, hokey-pokey poison on it? Next thing I expected, a hand reaching out of the sky. I didn't want to accept that this could be a dupe, that I was basically in Scarecrow's fucking universe. Only thing that calmed me at this time of day in the middle of wherever-the-hell, was the stream from just down yonder. I looked around; it was rocky, foresty... okay, I'll just say it was like I got lost while hunting and ended up at some poor man's shack. Except...

I looked up and this piece of rock was big. This was no shack. This was real. I mean, aside from the fact that it wasn't even night anymore, for a second let's assume I'm not tripping hell's bells here. This wasn't no shack or cabin in the woods. This was some old heirloom of sorts. I sure wouldn't like some guy walking into my dorm room, but... hell, it didn't look occupied. I had a good reason and this could've been a start. It could've been.

Could have. I crawled through the gate, and it seemed easy enough considering how it was riddled with squares. The fact that I was thin enough to get through would've bothered me if not for the thought that plagued my senses. Here I am, Dylan Hammond, traversing some giant fucking castle. I was hopped up; I then realized I liked to explore things other than... you know, girls. I got all of 'em back before I was kicked off the track team for-

Right, nevermind about that. It was... I don't know how to explain it. Still rocky, except it looked recent. It was clean and I could see through the non-paned windows and there it was... light. It was a different feeling that to a cloudy, blue sky. I was seeing the first sign of civilization, because I'm no history expert but I know that the ruins in Stonehenge didn't have any still-lit torches. I had a bit of a bad feeling. What... am I doing? I could be walking into some psycho's _land_! Christ, I could be in big trouble!

Fuck my brain, I thought to myself. I couldn't deal with motives that threw me back. My motive-days are over and that's how I got to where I was, which was to use my glock properly. My dad taught me to use it, and... hell, it's my baby. Wait, where the hell is it? Where's m-

Darkness.

"Oi, wake up." A voice hit me. Whatever's in front of me could forget it, because it was both blurry and my head was _killing_. I suddenly snapped back into reality; I was taken! I was taken hostage!

"Yo! Hey, get me outta this chair, you black-" I yelled, but I stopped. I couldn't say anymore; this guy was my captor. I'd been in situations, bad ones, but this? I was surely hanging at the fringes of death.

"How'd ye' even _get _here? I mean, y'must be an impressive navigator for a boy-"

"I'm no _boy_, freak, now let me out of these ropes!"

"Oh, go 'head, little man. Keep pulling; they haven't even been tightened that much. Go on, go 'head."

He blew some smoke into my face. Hah; okay, tough guy, so this is how you want to play? Alright, "Let's play," I told him, smirking as I took the smoke. He just smiled at me and leaned into the wall. Was he ready? He didn't look it, which had me at an opportunity, because... ffffff-

FUCK! I couldn't get out! I looked to him, "Hey! T- shit! Barely tight ropes, my ass!"

"You're wot'?" he questioned me. I noticed his accent, but he was audible enough. "These aren't _not _tight. Jesus!" I kept struggling but to no avail. This guy was screwing with me and I was providing entertainment. He had me there, but he couldn't refuse an offer.

"Alright," I sighed. "Okay, look... get me out of here and I'll give you whatever you freakin' need. I notice the torches. I've got friends who have light department skills; this is old style."

"Lights?" he chuckled at me, then lowered down into my face. "Wot' makes ye' think I need _lights_? And what kind of lights are ya' thinking anyway? Make-believe?"

"Christ, man, you got _scurvy_?" I pulled my head back. Okay, his breath wasn't that bad. No, it wasn't. No, but it _did _smell like hundred-year smoke. I'd never smelt a breath like that, and at this point I was more intrigued than disgusted. "What're you thinking, man? You don't need torches; you're looking to set your place ablaze with that shit. I can help you."

"Oi," he grabbed my attention at the loudness of this. "See the places where I've put the torches?"

"...Yeah? So?" I struggled. Nothing.

"Rock doesn' go aflame," he said, noting a small chuckle before setting himself down into his own chair. I looked at him for a few brief moments as he puffed out a few rings of smoke. "Feelin' comfortable?"

"No," he said, looking at me with as serious a gaze as I ever saw. No longer was this guy jolly or joker-like. He stripped that away, and his looks creeped me out. "S-so, uh..."

"Hm?" he responded. He set down his pipe on the... windowsill, twisting his head just a slight in curiosity. Yeah, he was _waiting _for me to say something. Like that wasn't enough. "Okay, that whole lighting thing was a lie," Dylan, what are you doing? You're going to kill yourself- "Let's just start over. I'm... Greg."

"Greg, y'have jus' given yer' name to a stranger."

"Yeah? And what difference does it make? I'm strapped to a chair in a castle owned by what looks to be a madman and-"

"That's me point, boy," he said. "You've got nil reason to lie te' me. If I'm going to slit that throat a' yours, you'd best come clean."

"That's a good point, mister," I told him. I was trying to keep my stuttering tendencies at bay while my heart throbbed away, much to my dismay. "But here's the thing... if you're gonna slit my throat, it's best you don't go do it to my god damn family. An' I'm a family man, so I wouldn't want daddy, mommy or brother harmed. It's Greg."

He smiled at me, chuckling. The nod he gave me didn't give me chills; in fact, it's as if he respected my say, like it was an acceptance that this was a friendly game of cat and... other cat. "Fine," he responded. "Greg; nice t'meet you. I've but one question for ye, though, if you're open to discussion."

"Once you get my behind out of this _chair _I will. I'm gonna get carpel tunnel if I'm stuck like this." he narrowed his eyes at me as if to express even more confusion, "Carpel...?" he'd laugh, "You outta that chair's a future that isn' happening."

"Alright, I stepped into your fuckin' boundaries, I _get _that-"

"Do you?"

"Yes." he looked up, disinterested, but I could tell the fucker was listening. "Yeah, man, I've had it happen all the time for me. I know, you must be takin' it more seriously, what with the hat and the cape..."

"You're not from 'round here," he nodded, plopping his pipe back into the same angle of his mouth. I let out a small laugh, looking down. "Nah, man," I stared at him again with a pressing concern. "No, I'm _not _from around here. How'd you cover that conclusion?"

"You don' look like one of the ones down the town," he pulled his weight up, looking out his window. "You don't look native, you don't _smell _native... y'don' sound native, an' it's these things that beg me question-"

"You ain't gonna believe me, pal, not one bit of my story's going to convince you."

"I've heard stories," he said. "Of monsters, of the loch..."

"The loch? What? Look, man, I don't know what kinda _high _you're on, but it don't matter. Right, whatever I say, you're gonna think it's another... I don't know, 'product' of one of the many delusions you've suffered."

"Game's over, little man," he looked back at me. "Nobody's stepped into me territory in years. Last one looked for the head; yes, _mine_. It was good at first, but now I'm really interested. How did you, a man of your size, get into _my _keep?"

I stopped talking. As he told me this, he got closer and closer, and I was just minutes from pissing myself. Yeah, I had to admit I didn't like this situation. "The truth?" I muttered, scuffing my shoes as I looked downward. "I don't know."

"Ye' don't _know_?"

"Listen," I said, him still stood up before me made it worse. I was tempted to tell him to sit, but from him, it was mixed emotions or something. Who knew he'd cut off my head and eat it? I couldn't lose anything here. Either I tell him and I sit here until the end of my days or I come clean and tell him in the open and maybe spare myself a few more hours before I hit medieval death row. "Okay... one minute, I'm at home. I'm in my city and I'm having a drink. This... fuckin' weirdo next to me told me he'd show me a magic trick by telling me where I got my shoes. If he got it wrong, I'd get a fifty."

He was looking at me with squinted eyes, and the halt was continued when he motioned his hand for me to continue. "I figured, right, what the hell. I'm smashed and it's dark out, I might as well get something out of the night." I took a deep breath. "Basically, he throws a card at me, I'm hit, I'm down... I wake up just outside your crib an' I'm lookin' at a blue sky. I'm not tired, I'm not sick, I'm not _anything _but shocked that one second ago it was pitch-black and next thing, it's pitch-fucking-blue."

"Sleep works in mysterious ways, lad-"

"Whatever, okay? The point is, the guy threw a card at me and I woke up somewhere which clearly wasn't where I was before. I couldn't have been knocked cold 'cos the outskirts of Tacoma aren't fucking like this. I sure as hell didn't know about no castle or 'keep' or whatever you'd like to call it."

The silence went on for about two minutes. In my head, it was eternity. I'd never seen a guy like this before and, admittedly, it wasn't only the mixed emotions that got me but the fucking _looks_. Living in a castle's one thing, and I don't live in no castle, but this guy didn't look like royalty or king. He was digging the black top hat, a gray beard and a red cape. Oh, and get this, he's a goddamn cyclops. Yeah.

I don't know if I'm going to get out here alive or not, but when I do, I'm speaking a word to nobody. If it's possible to end up in the middle of nowhere, it's possible that this guy could rain down hell on me if I spoke one bad word about him while doing work in my room. 'Sides, who'd believe me if I told them I met a black, one-eyed man with a stovepipe and a cape? That's like fairy-tale, 'cept that couldn't have any _good ending_.

"Okay," he said, startling me from the break of silence. He was behind me now, untying my wrists. I didn't do anything; I didn't look at him, I didn't even move but pull my hands to my face and studying the rope marks for a few moments. I looked up and his hand was offered, "Get up." I grabbed his hand and I was pulled. "You're gon' to tell _me _about what happened; I assume you like drinks so I'll be getting us a rum or two," he said in his thick, scottish accent.

And just like that, with the sudden question but the subtle suggestion of aid and the offering of rum, I felt like I'd made a buddy.


	2. All Talk

"What? Where's the glass?"

"You're goin' to get used to the absense of glasses," he said, taking a swig from his bottle. Sitting down at this table, it looked like it'd taken years and _years _of senseless beatings. I didn't want to mention it, it'd make bad conversation, but then any conversation at this point would've made do. I popped the cork from my bottle, though while it took him a thumb's worth, it took my whole set of fingers to get the thing out and the rum's fresh scent out. I finally took a swig, a mimicry of his. I almost wanted to spit it out, but instead I swirled it in my mouth and taking a painful gulp as though some guy just gave me an oyster.

"Mmm," I smiled at him. "That's real good." I moved the bottle to the side of my arm as he took another gulp, staring me down. "You're not a tad _fond _of it, are you?"

"I like it," I nodded.

"I've seen some liars in me days-"

"No, it's... good. Really, it is." Lying through my teeth. I couldn't... just couldn't tell him straight blank in the face that his prized drink tasted like ass. "Look," he told me, as I kept thinking to myself. "The reason yer alive, here, right now, is because I believe you an' that story of yours. It sounds like a fairy tale, but then so has half of the things that've gone down in me family's history." He nodded, "I got you the rum not to soothe ye, but to _talk_."

"Yeah," I nodded. "Look, I'm on your turf, I'll do whatever you say... it's just that, even I need time to adapt. My story's not exactly something to be proud of; it _just _happened. I'm kinda absorbing the whole logic part of it."

"We aren't pickin' daisies here, 'Greg', I have me part to go an' yours. I've got a sword in the basemen' and I'll get it if so demands-"

"Jesus! Alright, enough with the threatening! I'm uncomfortable as it is!" I looked at him, resting my forearms on the table, "Okay... first thing's first, before I tell you _my _story, I need you to do me one good. What's the _year_?"

"You're thinkin' you went from year-to-year?"

I chuckled, leaning back in my seat as it creaked. I looked down real quick to make sure that it didn't give in to the weight and I finally looked up at him. "Well, considering how I'm wearin' khakis and you're decking a stovepipe, yeah, I'd venture a guess as to time-hop."

He nodded slowly at me, staring at me now. "Eighteen sixty-three." He studied my facial expression, but my mind went blank for a moment...

And holy shit, was I right. This was no joke. Teleportation was one thing, but I jumped way beyond the original. I would've accepted being able to see the Kennedy's, but then I noticed I'm about a _hundred years_ too early... there's a good possibility he's lying, but why would he? What's his goal? I mean, look at him. I'm looking _at_ him; I can't go and say that he's a hippie or a hobo or anything else but an old-fashioned black guy.

The nineteenth century. If anything I listened to in my history classes, it was filled with stuff that depressed even me. I mean, I forgot about it a few hours later, what with hanging out late and dad not giving half a coyote's ass about my activities, but when I really came to think about it, it was grim. I'm a white man standing before a black man, and call me racist but in this case, I'd have liked being the dominant one here. Except I wasn't, and I was much smaller than him. He had a bottle to topple my _head _over with and what'd I have? Did I have my pistol? No. Did I have the manpower? Nope. Did I have my cap? No.

"Wait," I got out of my chair and looked at him. "Where's my _cap_?"

"You're wot'?"

"My freaking _cap_, it's one of my most... liked things that I have; where is it?"

"I didn' take any caps, whatever that is, so sit ye behind down."

"I'm not sitting down until I get the cap-"

He pulled his chair back, toppling it over as he stood defiantly next to me with an angered expression, grabbing my _neck _as he did so, "And it's really important that, right now, I hear your 'story', Greg, 'fore I beat yer head in so deep that y'can barely see the lights a' day," he threw me into my seat with surprising accuracy... I managed to not tip over. I gulped, staring up at him.

His hand motioned for me to continue as he dragged his weight into his own seat. Any noise would startle me, but it wasn't no walk in the park. I mean, it was silent, even for the nearby window. "L-look... there isn't much to tell, alright? I was looking to have some fun at night, ignorin' my _studies_; looks like I got what'd been coming to me, okay?"

He chuckled, "This isn' luck or karma or whatever ye' boys call it in the future. What'd he look like to y'?"

I retracted my head with a sigh, "Wh-what, the guy? Why, what does it matter?"

"Well," he took a swig of his bottle, leaning in now, and as close as he was I simply couldn't help but lean back in my chair a bit more, ignoring the creaking. "Considerin' how he just sent yer' behind a hundred years back in time, I'd say how he looks is real important."

"Oh... ok-okay, alright, uh... big colorful scarf, a baker boy's hat, and... fuck, there's an arrow somewhere in there."

"In 'is head?"

I looked to him as he said this in a close instant. "Yeah. Yeah, there was a big damn _arrow_ in his head, and he had these big-"

"Spectacles, hm?" he took another swig, and... yeah. Spectacles, I guess. I mean, they were glasses, but this is the nineteenth century as far as I'm concerned and who knows what slang they had back in the _really _old days.

"Spe- yeah, how the hell did you know that?"

He sighed as he stared at our table, standing up now with a fast nod. "'E's been here before, lad. I've seen 'im. You know how... how I told ye' that not many had been on me property for weeks?"

I got less tense, relaxing in the chair for a short while, "Yeah...?"

He gestured his finger to the glassless window, "The man has been hasslin' me fer' weeks. I mean, it isn' like he's coming to th' keep on-and-on. It's more like... on an' off. Left a bag o' dirt at me gate on fire and it didn' take long for me to realize after it smelt like a dog had died that t'was actual shit."

I couldn't help but crack a smile, though I 'scratched' my face in order to make certain that he didn't know I was about to bust one. He was being ding dong ditched extreme-style in the nineteenth fucking century.

"Few weeks went by; went out to do some trekking an' I came back. A face was smeared on the keep's walls.. looked like faces that were smiling-"

I chuckled, audibly, "So... he was _punking_ you," I said, and it was still pretty funny... until he turned around and furrowed his brow, a squinted set of eyes staring me down. "...Wot'?"

"W-well... he's messing around with you. The 'leave a bag of shit at the door and set it on fire' , it's a classic thing you'd do as a kid where I'm from. I mean, the time period, like..." he continued to look at me. "Oh, and the second one; he's vandalizing your house, yeah. That's... another classic."

"...Righ'."

I laughed, "So we're dealing with a prick who spends his days ditching houses and vandalizing property who can traverse through time and fuckin' space. That's, uh... heh, that's-"

"We? You aren' the one who has ta' deal with these shenanigans, boy-"

"Well, yeah," I nodded confidently, pausing for a moment. "But who's to say he won't come back to... I don't know, rub it in that I've been teleported or something? You know?"

"Well," he got out of his seat, stretching his back. I caught a glimpse of his figure for a moment as he stood triumphant before me and, at the same time, felt as though I was going to shit myself. "I think I've moderately 'enjoyed' our conversations, Greg, but I'm 'fraid you're out."

"What? What the hell do you mean 'I'm out'?"

"I mean yer not welcome here. Let yourself ou'."

"You're not going to kill me?"

He nodded, setting his glass down. "The wilds'll make do with ye."


	3. Unprepared

"What the _fuck_?" I told him to his face as the gate of his place slammed to the floor.

"Ah, so now ye' speak to me like tha' when you're out of my grasp-"

"Damn right I am," my voice was higher now. I was pissed and I knew it. "Yo, I thought we had a connection here. We were talkin' about the dude; the guy!"

"Yes, we were, boyo. We were talking abou' him an' now we aren't. Get." He turned his back on me but I slammed my hand into the gate to get his attention again. "W-wait, whoa! Wh... what am I supposed to _do _out here? I've got no experience! I'll die out here, man! Please!"

He glanced at me for a few seconds, squinted eyes staring _directly_ at mine for a time that seemed like an uncomfortable movie-moment. "It ain't my problem." He walked back into his castle as I slammed my hand on the gate again, but no response. I slammed my hand again into the iron, over and over until it at least _felt _like a bloody pulp, letting out the pain in the form of a glorious yell, "Asshole!"

Finally, I turned around. It felt like a plain of nothingness for a few yards forward and in just about every direction likewise, save for a large fall into a river, until the green hue of the forest thickness was able to be noticed. For the first time in my life, I felt like nothing. I mean I thought to myself, hell, maybe these feelings would go away, but then how was I supposed to feel? What, any ounce of happiness that some _prick _from a bar sent me back in time? Are you kidding? I didn't know how to fucking feel.

I walked. I kept walking until I met the first set of large trees that'd span into what looked like a horror story-worth of thicket. Okay, so maybe I _did_ have some leeway; after all, I hunted as a kid... even if it was with a nine-millimeter. The thought of shooting my way through a forest with my pistol in an effort to survive was just what I needed at a time where I didn't have my cap or a weapon of any kind, wasn't it? I really did feel hopeless, as though I lost a wilson ball or something.

The sky was still nice and bright. It didn't occur to me to think of how long I was out for about an hour ago in that chair, tied up in his fucking dungeon, but... I was building myself some confidence now. Look on the bright side, Dylan! It's bright and you've got time; get through the forest with what time you've got left and find a village. Hang out and have a few beers or something. Be glad you're away from the crazy one-eyed prick wanking off in his own castle. You do you and he does him. That's how it was gonna work. I'm gonna do it _my _way or the highway.

**9:32 PM**

I couldn't muster myself to do it, instead placing my behind right at the brink of the waterfall, and at least I felt... blessed that there was the calming sound of the water to soothe me. Countless times was I moving my head from there to there and back again; studying the darkness of the trees, the croaking of the wood and the moaning of the wolves. Was I scared shitless? Certainly not as much as I could've. If a wolf came up to me, no problem, I'd beat the everliving shit out of it until it caved and ran away.

Shit, I really wanted some music. I looked off to the distance toward the guy's castle. It was a weak dim light. Heh. Yeah, live it up in there, you fuck, because meanwhile I'm sitting here on my ass like the guy from Man vs. Wild. It was at this point that I thought I could really use some sort of object with a face on it to keep me company.

**1:23 AM**

The night _dragged_. I thought to myself that maybe this was the time to consider my life. I mean, really, what was I _doing_? When I get back - if I get back - what then? Huh? Piss about in my dorm room and get a girl or two? As hard as it was to say, I was getting a bit tired of pussy. That kinda feeling is actually the last thing I need right now. I've convinced myself that I'm practically braindead; I know I'm twenty-two but, really, what kinda start did I think I was getting off to? Maybe I have some natural intelligence that's been untapped, like a giant reservoir in my head or something.

Wishful thinking. I'd think about anything at this point to let the time by. What's eighteen sixty-three good for? Shit, maybe I could make a new life in this place. To hell with trying to get back, right? It ain't like I've _got _anything waiting for me back in the west coast but trouble and drugs.

...No, that wouldn't work. I'd have to live in a cave or some shit like the black guy to get past the fact that people are being decapitated and hung all the time, not to mention that... jesus, the Civil War was going on as well. Then again, maybe I'd dodged a bullet; this isn't the US, this is Scotland. I know nothing about this place, save for the dresses and funny accents, so at this point I can't tell if I _dodged _a bullet or hit one.

**2:05 AM**

I remember the first time my dad brought me hunting. It was a shit sport until I figured out how cool guns were. Seriously, he washands-down _the _nicest guy when it came to handling guns. He took a while to consider the possibilities but, ultimately, the man was right in considering me fit for a promotion in the gun department. I managed not to shoot myself in all my years. I mean, after all, I'm here. I remember the best thing about picking up hunting as a hobby - or pseudo-hunting in my case - it was getting my very own sawnoff when I was nineteen. When I pulled off getting my license my dad rewarded me with it and, damn, was it awesome. Right now it's kept under my bed in a locket chest so, yeah, no one is ever going to touch it.

I remember wondering if I was wrong in the head for loving my guns more than my girl at the time, even going so far as to suggest that I was going to become some sort of gun mass-murderer dude. That wasn't the case either; apparently I just really liked guns. It was weird, actually; I could feel a smile coming to my face and it tickled because, shit, I hadn't smiled all day now, I think.

There was only, like, one girl who I really liked. That was a girl named Juliana. I mean, even if I've had about twenty odd girlfriends since her, I... feel like I only had them to try and get over _her_. She was the most beautiful girl I'd ever been with; I didn't really care about sex that much with her, although when it came around, it was the bomb. Compared to me, a five-foot eight guy, she was about... what, five-foot three or four? And she had this jet-black hair that she cut short in the tenth grade.

And yeah, that's how far back my crush went. Hell, _longer _than that; I could tell she liked me in the eighth grade. It's too bad I was such a stubborn jackass that she got turned off, though I had a feeling she still kind of liked me after that, you know? That broke, of course, when I found out in the tenth grade, just two months before school was out, that she was seriously dating another girl. Good for her.

**4:11 AM**

"Fuck this," I muttered, pulling myself up but falling to the ground again, just realizing how long I'd been sitting here for. I struggled to muster the energy for my legs but, finally, I got up, staring into the darkness of the forest. Now? Now wasn't the time for diddle-dallying about. I'm getting through this shithole-of-a-place and there's no one that can stop me!

I tread my first foot on the grass, stepping into the forest. My heart was _pounding_; was this a dream? Did I play too much Slender before passing out drunk? Thoughts filled my head as though to deafen out any other sounds from around me. This wasn't no canadian forest; this was proper _giant _forest. The best I could describe was that the ground was smooth and green, the trees were spread comfortably apart and, again, the trees seemed infinitely tall.

I almost _felt _like I was looking through a camcorder as my vision was blurry and, coupled with the foggy distance, the rigid undergrowth and the insane sleeplessness, it was like being on a huge high. I was frightened now. I really felt the fear kick in and, when noises rattled the ground beneath my feet, I couldn't tell whether I was hearing things or being hunted. It didn't take long for me to realize that I was lost. I was _lost_. I couldn't tell what way I'd come from as every fucking direction looked exactly the same.

What was I gonna see? Horse-men from Harry Potter? Because, yes, for reference, _that_ is the kind of scenario I'm dealing with. It was massive; it was as if it didn't fit into this kind of place. I snapped back into my senses, gripping my stomach. I could hear the sound of the waterfall from a distance and from that point on I knew that was where I needed to go. Yeah, I had a plan. A plan to screw right back to where I started because I couldn't do this. Forget flashlights; this wasn't even the same century.

I was legging it now, as if I discarded the fear from my body and left it for dead in the woods, running back and forth in a measly attempt to figure out where the sound was coming from, like a clueless retard from a horror flick who was obviously going to die. Ringing in my ears, waterfall nearby, footsteps behind me... I am royally fucked! Run! FUCKING RUN!

I tossed myself forward, still in the forest but just inches from my original point. I knew it because now, the waterfall was right next to me. I was even _more _panicked than I was just seconds ago because the sound of the waterfall was roaring; it completely snuffed out any other sound near me and so, instinctively, I threw my head around to see if anyone was there. Now on my back, I hurrily pushed my feet forward in an attempt to push myself out of the woods.

And out I was. I was sweating like a dog but showering was the last thing on my mind. I stared into the woods as if to say, yeah, I escaped from you. What now?

I turned my back and, in an instant, a tree suddenly fell behind me. I quickly turned around to view the spectacle with a jump, and so I did, because another one fell. And another. From each slam I jumped until the roaring of what sounded like a genuine _monster _filled the nearby section of forest and my ears, killing the ringing and now clearing my eardrums clean. The growling became louder and, now, it was clear that it wasn't pulling off a tantrum in the wilds now. It got louder not because it just wanted to be heard. No; it was getting louder because it was coming for me.

I could see the outline of it, and it was huge. It fit the woods like camouflage so it was perfectly in-place and in tune with its territory. Its large, yellow, bulging eyes looked straight into mine. I'd stepped into its home, and it stepped into mine. An eye for an eye. I had only _one _thought in my mind with this scenario.

Run.


	4. Godlike

"Run," said the boy. "Run, run, 'fore the monster behind my fleet foot catches on!" And so he continued with his actions, Dilan, towards DeCreaut's keep. The lightly haze of the comforting stone masterwork in the valley of the forest dimmed and Dilan had wondered within his mind whether darkness seeped over _he _or the world. "You musn't let my fate slip, you scot! Let open your entrances, all and any, I beg of you! Let me in!"

There were none but all two noises deafening both DeCreaut and his former comrade; Dilan's bashing of hand on the rusted iron and the gust of the creature behind him. It was not long before the black smoke of the creature engulfed the boy of life. "Please," he muttered under his foul breath, weeping in silence as he did so. DeCreaut was nay coming for him.

"What're you writing there?" asked the waitress, standing behind him as he wrote on.

"Ah," he muttered, placing his pen down. "I'm writing a story about two men. Dilan and DeCreaut."

"Oh?" she chuckled a slight, "That's... they're interesting names, yeah."

He chuckled, setting down his newsboy cap on the table. "Ah, thank you, miss."

Detroit, Michigan

2013

"So, are you a big-time writer or something?"

"Was," he smiled, glancing down at his work. "I was once an important writer in Uppsala."

"Upp... what?" asked the young waitress. "I had a feeling you weren't from here or anything, um-"

He chuckled, quickly looking at her. "Sweden, yes. I am from Sweden. I was in the newspaper and I wrote short stories for them."

She nodded slowly, "Aaah. What kinds of stories?"

"Horror stories!" he beamed, laughing a slight. She looked at him for a moment, leaving no second to stay quiet as she let out a meaningful chuckle after his. "Many stories; any stories, really. What mattered was that I had the chance to write."

"Yeah," she said. Her american accent, her american 'ways' fascinated him. She always made him smile as though their being together at the same table in the diner sung a delicate rhythym. "You really like writing. I wasn't... much of a writer myself, to be honest. I knew I could write; like, essays came to me really easy. I was good when given an objective in school and stuff."

"Well," he said, picking his pen up now. "There is creativity in you; I know that."

"I guess," she said, thinking for a moment before looking up at him. "Why do you say that?"

He shrugged, suddenly disinterested. She opened her mouth after a brief pause, "H-hey, can I... read y-"

"How would you like to _be _in my story?" he said, pulling his head up with a gentle smile.

She retracted her head; she couldn't help but return one. "You... you want me in your story?"

"Of course," he said, placing his pen down. She stared at him and then the paper, keeping her smile along with a surprised glint in her eyes. The man pulled out a set of cards from what seemed to be nowhere, spreading out a set in his hands, staring at her from behind the deck. "Pick a card."

Now

One goal in mind! Don't even think, just run! Just keep pulling your leg forward; jesus christ, left leg forward and right leg back! RUN!

The gusts of wind behind me sounded like it was singing in rhythym, as if almost to _speak _to me while I was running; while I was busy trying to protect my very fucking life, I ventured a guess that it was telling me to crap myself, but that sure as _shit _wouldn't stop me! A dump in my boxers? NICE TRY! "AAAH!" I screamed, things seeming distorted around me from the weakening noise. Where the hell was I? Was I still running? I was still running!

No, no, no! I can't be that far from his place now! I WAS SO CLOSE! I... I thought I was closer! I'm closer now, I... I can't be too far. DYLAN! Keep sprinting, you can _do _this! J-just imagine that whatever the fuck is behind you is the coach telling you to leg it! Alright, coach! I can do this! I can do this, bitch! I CAN DO THIS, _BITCH!_

My breath was falling out of my lungs as if it were skydiving from my mouth; it was plunging the ground and leaving me for dead. The thing behind me wasn't even a form in itself anymore, it was like a _dark _tornado filled with flies and ants and insects and whatever the f-

"UAGH!" I yelled, my back smashing straight into the ground. It was trying to disorient me! A new challenge, coach? Huh?! No longer telling me to run but now you're gonna try and test me yourself?! BRING IT ON!

"You will BOW BEFORE ME!"

Th-then again, coach'd never say that. O-oh shit, oh shit! OH SHIT! I sprung back up, stunned by what was before me. A giant godzilla-like tornado-ish monster thing! I turned right around; the gate! I was there! I was in front of the gate! I thought to myself, swiftly, that the pain caused by my relentless smashing on his rusty iron checkered would be no match for what'd be facing me if I just stood there, gob-smacked.

I kept slamming my palm against the door whilst shouting at the highest possible pitch a human could ever even _get _to. I glanced at the gate while panicked and just now realized that he'd boarded the damn thing up. Oh, asshole; nice fucking try, now let me in! LET ME IN! PLEASE! CAN'T YOU HEAR THIS SHIT FROM OUTSIDE?! FUCK!

There was a screaming from behind me. O-oh, that's real great; he's pulling a horror card! Screaming crazy _women_, that's the last thing I need right n-

"Aaaah!" a voice screamed, falling down to the dusty ground just feet from me. It was... it was a girl in an outfit. Like... like a restaurant outfit or something! What the hell? What was this girl _doing _here?! As I stared at her, baffled, I couldn't tell that the noise of the 'monster' had died down significantly since I almost pissed myself at the black guy's door. I turned around... it was _him_. Anger filled my body; my head was warm, my ears were steaming and... and my legs fucking _hurt_..

I couldn't speak for a moment. Hell, scratch that, I couldn't speak for ages. He simply stared at me while the girl got up, and there I was in this mess. Gasping for air, cringing with the pain while flashing a pissed off face at the guy. It was the _guy_, the dude. It was the poker-game, card-man... fucking hell, _this _guy was the dickwad who sent me back here! I glanced at the girl. She... she wasn't from here either. I threw my head towards the guy's direction. "Oh... oh no, you _didn't_."

"What was that?" he asked. That same faggot-ass accent made my blood boil. I wasn't seeing shit, not now. Not in my situation; I couldn't be. "What was that, Dilan?"

I scrunched my eyes at him. Did he just mispronounce my name? Dee-lon? How fucking hard is 'Dylan' to pronounce? What a fuckin'- "What do you _mean_, 'what was that'? Huh?"

"You _ruined _the story. Now I must get another girl and r-" he sighed. "Would you...?"

"Would I _what_?!" I yelled. In the corner of my eye, I startled her, but otherwise she was still simply looking between the both of us... just as clueless as I was when _I _first got here. "Would you go back to the forest? This needs to be right; you understand."

"Yo," I yelled, standing up into a chest-baring pose, "I understand _shit_! What the hell is this, huh? Nineteenth century? Are you _high_?!"

He chuckled, "U-uh... no, I'm not high-"

"Well y'must be on something then, jackass, because you managed to send _me _and some girl back hundreds of years-"

"One hundred and fifty," he shook his head as if to say, what, you didn't _know _that? Psh!

"Look, _whatever_, assbag. Send us backnow, or at least her! I'm the one you've got the beef with, not some _chick_!" She glanced at me as I yelled that last word.

"Th' hell is goin' on here?" I arched my back downwards a slight to get a look at where the voice was coming from. It was the black dude. Oh, that's... yeah, that's great, really! We've got, what, a psychopath dude who sends people back in time and a drunk? Who'd have _thought_?!

"Ah, DeCreaut! It's good to see you! How have you been?"

"Scrubbin' dirt which a certain some 'un smeared upon me walls. An' you?"

"I've been just peac-"

"That's so grea', but I'm afraid yer' goin' to have te' leave. Now."

He looked down, chuckling. I shook my head slowly; if you weren't some sorta magic-man, I'd be beating you until you had no life, prick. "You both seem to have this delusion - almost all seem to have the thought - that I will leave because you've said it 'politely', hm? This is wrong," he said, looking to me. "We haven't a 'beef' with eachother, Dilan-"

"It's Dylan," I said, staring at him. Come _at _me and see what happens.

"Whatever. We have not a beef with eachother. I simply find... entertainment in watching two different worlds collide. You have your world, Dilan; DeCreaut has his. When two worlds collide..." he shrugged, slowly clashing his hands together and... what, replicating a boom? Like hell 'DeCroot" and I are gonna collide. He can chill in his crib and I'll make my own cabin in the woods. Fuck him.

"I'm sorry," a voice yelled, staring at the direction. I almost forgot about the girl and, as I looked at her, she looked at _me _for a brief moment and then back at DeCroot. "What the _hell _is going on?! Wh- just... let me _go_! Please!" Damn... she was scared as hell. I could see a tear going down her cheek and when I saw it, it punched me straight in the feelings. I looked to DeCroot and he simply shook his head.

We couldn't do anything. "You're in the story now, sweetheart," he muttered under his scarf. She shook her head, staring down to the ground while sobbing. I shifted my head towards the guy again, staring at him with anger. He simply smirked at me with a shrug while slowly pulling up his hand and, with the flick of his finger...

Bang. I couldn't tell for a few seconds what'd happened. Warmth filled spots of the left side of my face as I looked to the side, startled. The girl's head was gone. I couldn't hear anything from the outside, only paying attention to the headless body as it fell, as if in slow motion, to the ground. It was no... it was no 'clean' sever; it'd been properly exploded. He looked to me, smiling now. I couldn't hold it in. I had to let it out.

"YOU SON OF A FUCK! YOU F- AAAH!" I yelled on instinct, my back being thrown towards the iron gate now. I groaned, wincing as I looked down at the body. I didn't know what to fucking think, but I felt like I was going to throw up. I looked to DeCroot and he, too, looked pissed now. His eyes were open for the first time, and he wasn't chilled out any longer. "So, here is the deal, you two. You will cooperate together _as per the writing_. I will intrude occasionally, of course, as per the _writing_. This will continue until I am bored."

DeCroot furrowed his brow, "And?"

The guy shrugged, "And... I don't know, perhaps I'll simply kill you both." And in an instant, before he disappeared, he flashed a glance and a wink at me. I fell to the ground at the exact time that he left, looking at DeCroot. Before I knew it, we were bang in his castle, my hands sitting absently in my hair, my palms resting on my forehead. He looked at me, "Dilan, mm?"

"...It's Dylan," I responded, shaking my head just a bit.

I could hear him sigh. I was checking him out in the corner of my eye to see if he had anything else to say. "That there," he muttered. "Tha', back there, was a differen' man." He sighed, pouring his drink into a glass. "So we know now that he has a plan. We've jus' gotta find out how we stump 'im."

"...Okay," I said, looking at him. "_How_?"

"Well," he said, sitting down in his chair. The sound of his ass hitting the chair startled me, "Magic is apparently _real _an' we're in his book. Y'weren't diddlin' about and got yerself in a bad situation; the way he's sayin' it, you bein' here is a plan. Colliding worlds an' that."

I took a deep breath in through my nose, my intertwined fingers now resting on my bottom lip. "What do we do with, uh..." I cleared my throat. "_What _do we do about the body?"

He shrugged at me, "It's the least o' our concerns-"

"Horse-shit it is," I said. "That was an innocent girl, man. That was an _innocent _girl, and he killed her. He didn't even go out of his fucking way; he just did it like... like Houdini."

"Like who?"

"My point is, the guy is powerful as all-hell and... I-I'm... jesus." He sighed at me, pouring another load of his drink into the glass. "He's like a god," he muttered, taking a sip. I looked at him; he looked at _me_.

"Okay... so how do we stop a _god_?"


End file.
